Life, Reset
by aslanbrooke
Summary: Jonathan Cole survives. Problem is, he has no recollection of anything that makes his survival so miraculous. Not such a big problem, though, if it gives him a new lease on life. Gibbs is determined that it will.


Disclaimer: I only wish I owned NCIS.

Never had the cheerful chiming of a ringing phone sounded so ominous. Jonathan Cole, convicted traitor and former bomb tech, stared in growing horror at the deadly contraption stuffed in the seat in front of him. Of course Dearing would do this. Why would the man set the bomb on a timer when he had the option of a cell phone available to him? Of course the man would choose to detonate his deadly device at a time of his own flexible choosing, so that anyone who tried to disarm it would be at an instant disadvantage when it came to knowing when the bomb would go off.

Cole had only just begun assessing the wiring. Naturally, Dearing's chosen time of detonation would be now, when he hadn't even begun to disarm the bomb.

Despite what he'd said to Agent Gibbs only a few minutes earlier, Jonathan Cole was not, in fact, eager to expedite his own death. The words "For Evan" lit up the tiny screen, probably meant to drive home the fact that he was supposed to meet said person very soon. The phone rang once. Twice. And Cole knew that for all his experience, all the bombs he had disarmed (or used) in the past, there wasn't a chance in hell he would be able to stop this one.

Although a small part of him protested at abandoning the assignment he had silently _promised_ Gibbs he would complete, Cole knew he didn't have a choice if he didn't want to become Harper Dearing's next victim. Time to go.

Well aware that he was only seconds away from being consumed in a giant fireball, Cole took a risk by scrambling _over_ the bomb to get out. Not something he would have ordinarily done, but if that bomb went off at this close range, well, it wouldn't make a difference whether he was moving on top of or sitting in front of it.

The people running past him were close, far too close to the bomb. Forgetting that he had once tried to kill them, or several of their colleagues, Cole bellowed, "_Move!"_ hoping against hope that some of them would heed his warning, and move as quickly as possible to get as far away from the bomb as they possibly could. They just didn't have much time…

And then time ran out.

Cole's words were drowned out by the deafening roar of an explosion. He became suddenly, intimately, agonizingly aware of the crushing pressure on his body. He didn't even have time to realize that he was flying through the air until he slammed back into the ground with a sickening crunch, and Jonathan Cole knew no more.

XXX

NCIS Director Leon Vance was well aware of the damage a bomb could cause, due to more personal experience than he ever would have liked. Still, though, even the man who considered himself prepared for almost any situation was _not_ prepared for the explosion that rocked the one place he and his agents would have considered the safest place possible only a few minutes before. Leon had just exited the building only moments before when the SUV that his children had so eagerly picked out exploded.

The noise was tremendous, and it seemed it would drown out every other sound in the Navy Yard. Leon felt it more than he heard it, though, and he felt it again when the shockwave from the blast rolled out to greet him. He was lucky enough to be far away from the vehicle when it exploded but he was still close enough to be knocked clear off his feet. The Director came down hard, but he landed on the grass, not the pavement. Stars exploded in his vision, but at least it wasn't black oblivion.

For a moment, Leon just lay there, reeling from disorientation and disbelief as debris from the explosion rocketed out in all directions. The headquarters of the agency he had invested himself in for the last 20+ years took the brunt of the blast, windows shattering as the concrete around them was cracked and atomized, causing portions of the front section of the building to collapse. A cloud of dust and soot billowed outwards, obscuring Leon's vision of the destruction.

"Director Vance! Director Vance!"

Slowly, Leon became aware of someone calling his name. Dragging his eyes away from the unbelievable destruction, he looked up and saw a guard crouching above him. The young man, who looked to be new to the job, nearly wilted with relief when the Director reacted to his words.

Ignoring the young guard's protests, Leon forced himself into a sitting position, feeling for all the world like he had just been body-slammed by the latest champion from the WWF. "I'm fine," he heard himself grind out, voice choked from the amount of dust in the air. "I'm fine. You?"

The guard nodded. "I'm fine, sir—Sir, you really shouldn't stand up!"

Leon ignored him, and forced himself up on unsteady legs. For a moment, he just stood there, trying to regain his bearings in the suddenly-unfamiliar surroundings. He was aware of people crying out, some of them screaming, and some not moving at all. Bodies littered the ground around him, their clothes and flesh shredded by the flying shrapnel.

Leon stumbled towards them. These were his people, they needed help. "Evacuate the area," he ordered the guard, who nodded and hurriedly began escorting those still standing away from their own personal Ground Zero. To another person, standing shocked and dazed, but apparently unharmed, beside him, Vance barked, "Stay away from the vehicle, but start checking some of these people, get them out of here. Find bomb disposal to clear the scene so search and rescue can get in."

The woman paled. "Sir, do we still have people inside?"

"Yes, Ms. Morris, we do."

His orders delivered, Vance turned to the closest body in front of him. It was that of an elderly man who had something sticking out of the back of his head. Leon didn't know who he was, but the man was clearly dead, so the Director moved on to the next person. As he did so, though, his legs became tangled up in something else and he tripped, landing on his hands and knees. He was just moving to get up again when his foot came into contact with something soft.

Leon looked down. There was a large piece of debris behind him (the trunk door?) and a pair of legs was sticking out from under it. Stomach churning, and dreading what he would find, Leon gripped the edge of the still-hot metal and forced it aside.

The Director could not have been more shocked at the identity of the person he found. It was Jonathan Cole, the former Army Green Beret and convicted traitor whom Gibbs had used to try to lure Dearing out into the open. He'd heard from the Agent who had told him to evacuate that Gibbs had taken the former bomb tech out to dispose of the bomb. Clearly, he'd failed.

Cole was lying partially on his left side. He was unconscious, bleeding, and barely breathing. Vance noticed a burn on the upper right side of his face, starting on his cheekbone and ending on his forehead. How bad it truly was, was impossible to tell, due to the blood that coated his face. The sticky red substance flowed from an unseen gash on his head, and was starting to pool underneath his body from innumerable cuts and shrapnel wounds. It was also trickling from the corner of his mouth, and the former Phantom Eight operative appeared to be fighting for each and every breath.

Vance was vaguely aware of the arrival of the first emergency responders on the scene, including multiple ambulances. For a moment, he struggled with himself, trying to decide what to do with him. This man had hurt and murdered a lot of people, some of them Navy personnel and NCIS agents. Cole had sold Harper Dearing the technology that the vengeful terrorist had needed to make this happen. But, he had tried, he had _volunteered_ to disarm the deadly explosive. He may not have been successful, but at least he had tried.

Leon flashed back to what Gibbs and Dr. Ryan had told him of their 'discussion' with Cole yesterday—was it only yesterday?—afternoon. They had offered to reduce his sentence in exchange for his cooperation. As far as Leon was concerned, he had more than given it; Jonathan Cole had proved, potentially at the cost of his own life, that even someone they considered a villain could still have good inside him.

Gibbs' specific words had been to keep him "away from the firing squad." That meant keep him alive. Cole had just proved that he was worth it; therefore, Vance would do everything in his power to see to it that he survived.

"Sir! Are you injured?"

It was one of the paramedics; she must have run up behind him while he was pondering what to do about the man lying in front of him. That man needed her attention far more than Leon himself did. He shook his head.

"No, I'm fine. This man's hurt pretty badly."

Catching sight of the prone figure lying almost motionless at the director's feet, the paramedic immediately knelt down to begin her rapid assessment. His pulse was weak; so was his respiration. If he'd been picked up and thrown by the blast, or struck by debris, he probably had a multitude of injuries that weren't visible to the naked eye. Trying to discover what and where they were, the medic rapidly ran her hands over his body. Internal injuries would be invisible to touch but broken bones—there. Only three months out of training, the young woman couldn't help but cringe when she felt the bones of his left hip and pelvis shift under her hands. Vance, standing several feet above her, grimaced when he heard the crunching, grinding movement of bone against bone.

"Erika!" the medic called. Another medic, her partner, dashed to her side. One look at the man lying on the ground told her that this patient was critical indeed, especially since his blood was pooling on the ground and her partner was indicating a pelvic break. He needed a hospital, and he needed one fast, but…everyone else needed them. The older medic cast her eyes across the destroyed ground, uncharacteristically unsure of what to do.

As if on cue, Cole's breath rasped suddenly, signaling loudly how hard he was struggling to breathe. The younger paramedic, stethoscope in hand, shook her head. "Decreased breath sounds on the left and the right, sounds like both lungs collapsed."

That was it, then. "He needs to go," the older paramedic decided. There was no time for an in-depth, on-the-field assessment. To Vance, that was an indication of how bad things truly were. If they just had to load and go…he shook his head. He couldn't think about that, the rest of his agency needed him, especially if anyone else was in such dire straits.

"Damn it," he swore viciously.

The younger of the two paramedics looked up from securing Jonathan Cole to a backboard. Not even sure why she was asking, she asked, sympathetically, "Is he one of your agents?"

"No." Vance took a deep breath. Jonathan Cole was definitely not one of his agents. "Convict."

The paramedics' eyes widened.

XXX

They were alive. That was what Leroy Jethro Gibbs reminded himself as he made his way back towards the dusty, sooty, damaged building that now passed for the NCIS Headquarters. Every member of his team was alive. Abby was fine, she only had a few cuts and burns. He didn't know the status of Ziva or DiNozzo, beyond that they were trapped in an elevator from which workers were trying to free them. If it hadn't collapsed, they were probably okay, too, although he would be having a discussion with them about the use of proper emergency exits in the near future. McGee would be fine, too; he'd texted them, saying he'd only needed stitches. And Ducky…Jethro's heart clenched. Ducky was supposed to be safe in Florida, but Dearing had managed to reach him even there. Palmer had just called, informing him that Ducky had had a heart attack when he'd heard the news. But he was stable; that was what mattered. They would be okay. Jethro would not allow them to be otherwise.

Gibbs spent a brief moment getting an update on the status of the elevator extrication. The workers he talked to said it would be awhile before they could free the two agents trapped in the elevator, but it sounded like they were okay. He met up with Tobias Fornell on the way on the way to Vance's office; the two agents greeted each other quickly, each relieved to see the other. Gibbs needed his old friend's help; Tobias was glad to see his old friend alive. The circumstances, after all, left a lot to be desired.

"Your team okay?" Jethro's team was family; if his family wasn't okay, neither was Jethro.

"McGee's got stitches. Abby's fine, DiNozzo and David are trapped in an elevator."

Which amounted to the fact that Jethro still didn't know if his entire team was okay. Fornell saw the look on his friend's face, and didn't ask any more questions. No one had the answers.

Vance and Jarvis were waiting for them in Vance's office; Jarvis was on the phone, presumably with someone important, as he gestured at them to wait. Gibbs snorted. The office was completely intact; only the unmoving, un-air conditioned air and the smell of soot gave away the fact that an explosion had taken place outside. It seemed cruel that the phones and computers had survived while people had died.

"Agent Fornell, thank you for coming aboard," Vance stated gravely.

The two shook hands. "I can't think of any place I'd rather be."

Jarvis, meanwhile, was continuing his conversation on the phone; whoever it was, it sounded like they were angry. Justifiably so. "The President," Vance explained. He turned to Gibbs. "Special Agent McGee?"

"Lucky, stitches."

"Agents DiNozzo and David?"

"They're still in the elevator. Debris fell on top of the car."

Fornell snorted. Knowing what he knew of those two agents, "That must be cozy."

"What about Dr. Mallard?"

NCIS needed its medical examiner back, now more than ever, but it wasn't going to happen. "Ducky had a heart attack." Vance's jaw clenched, the only outward reaction to the news that Dearing had managed to harm another of his people without even touching him. "Palmer's on his way here."

They could only hope that Palmer was up to the task. At least Ducky was stable, something they couldn't say for many others of their coworkers. As far as Vance was concerned, Ducky was stronger than all of them combined.

"Thank you, Mr. President," Jarvis finally concluded his conversation, allowing him to get back to the matters at hand. He barely paid attention to the introduction of FBI Agent Tobias Fornell, nodding briefly in the other man's direction. Fornell took no offense; nobody in the office cared about pleasantries at this point. The mission was the only thing that mattered.

"I know we don't have an operational skiff, so what I have to say stays in this room. We've been instructed to locate Harper Dearing and proceed with extreme prejudice."

Extreme prejudice; a code term for 'kill.' Gibbs had no problem seeing the man who had done this to NCIS dead. Dearing had gotten his revenge; now it was their turn. As for Dearing eluding them, well, it wasn't going to happen. Failure was not an option.

Vance looked over his workstation. There wasn't a whole lot they could do in here, not without the staff and the resources they'd need to commence their search in full.

"Where's our command center been set up?"

Fornell led the way out of the room. As he exited, however, Gibbs' shoe came down on a piece of paper. He picked it up. It was an order for a sentencing review, with Jarvis's signature, and the convict in question was one Jonathan Cole.

"Cole," he muttered, crumpling the paper in his hand. It didn't matter, now. Earlier that day, Gibbs had seen something in the convicted traitor, something that might have been worth saving. His offer to help, at least, had been genuine. But it had all been in vain. Cole, despite all his training and experience in bomb disposal, had not been able to stop this bomb. Worse, he'd been sitting right on top of it. There was no way he could've survived.

Vance overheard Gibbs' muttering and abruptly remembered one very important fact. "He's not dead."

Gibbs' head jerked up in disbelief, and Vance nodded, gesturing for Gibbs to follow them. "He's in pretty bad shape, but he survived. The warden at the penitentiary has cleared me and any agent I assign to act as his legal advocate. He may not live anyway."

How the hell was that even possible? Gibbs had seen the bombed out wreckage of Leon's car. No one could've survived that, especially not if they were sitting right on top of the bomb! Cole should've been cinders after that explosion.

Unless he hadn't been in the car at the time of the explosion.

That had to be it. Jonathan Cole had _not_been in the car when it exploded. Gibbs wondered, for a moment, if he'd been wrong about his last impression of Jonathan Cole. Had he taken advantage of the chaos and cut and run the minute Gibbs' back was turned? Gibbs didn't want to believe it; he'd been so sure of the man's sincerity.

"No, sir, he didn't try to escape."

It was one of Vance's assistants who had come to meet them in the hall. Gibbs hadn't even realized he'd voiced his concerns aloud. Seeing the intensity of the infamous team leader's stare focused directly on him, the young man swallowed and continued, "I was there, ran right by the vehicle. I saw him; he didn't jump out until after the phone rang. Twice."

Cole hadn't tried to run. Internally, Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been wrong about his suspicions that a good man still existed inside the traitor who had betrayed his country and tried to kill people Gibbs cared about. If the phone had started ringing, then Cole would have had no chance of disarming the bomb. Getting as far away from it as possible had been the only thing he could have done. He just hadn't gotten far enough.

"Where is he now?"

"I sent him to Bethesda. Sent a guard with him, just in case," Vance answered. They exited the building and surveyed the damage all around them. "I think he was the closest to the bomb to survive. So far."

Because he was the one who had been attempting to disarm it. He'd risked his life to save all of theirs, even though he hadn't been successful. No, that wasn't entirely true. Cole _had_ saved two lives: Abby's life and Gibbs' own. If Cole hadn't sent his captor away, Gibbs himself might have been killed by that explosion. Abby, too, would have died after being hit by flying shrapnel, or inhaling the toxic contents of her own lab. But she hadn't. Abby was safe, thanks to Cole. Gibbs wondered if Cole was conscious enough to know that; he only hoped the man would survive so that Gibbs could thank him for it.

XXX

The explosion had occurred around 10 o' clock in the morning, but Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not arrive at Bethesda Naval Hospital until almost 10 o' clock at night, nearly twelve hours after the blast. He and his team had been busy at the Yard, taking photographs, gathering and processing evidence, interviewing witnesses and being interviewed themselves. It was all very time-consuming, and very tiring. Jethro couldn't remember the last time he'd been this exhausted. But he couldn't sleep.

McGee was here, in this hospital, and he would be staying the night, not sleeping in his own bed like Gibbs himself had the option to. His condition was stable—he'd only needed stitches—but they were keeping him overnight for observation. Gibbs had checked on Abby, and both of his other two agents, before they turned in, or attempted to turn in, for the night. They were rattled, but fine. He just needed to check on McGee. Maybe then he'd be able to sleep.

Maybe.

Bethesda was buzzing a little more than normal, probably because of their recent influx of patients. Gibbs did not know how many had been injured by the blast—at least two dozen—but he did know that many of them were being housed at this hospital. At least they were luckier than some of their colleagues. Eight people had been killed instantly, including two guards, an administrative assistant, a janitor, two agents, and two analysts who'd been too close to the windows when they exploded. The number of dead was actually far lower than what Gibbs had expected. But it was still too high. _Far _too high.

Gibbs walked straight up to the closest desk. "I'm looking for Special Agent Timothy McGee. He was brought in after the explosion with a piece of glass in his side."

The nurse or clerk or whatever she was checked her computer. "Hm, he's stable, being kept for observation. Down that hall, room 3B."

Not bothering to ask about visiting hours, because he was going to see his agent come hell or high water, Gibbs left and strode down the indicated hall to the room labeled '3B'. It was a private room, apart from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the emergency ward, but it did have windows to allow outsiders a peek inside. The blinds were closed, though, so Gibbs knocked softly on the solid wood door. He received no response so, moving as silently as possible, he turned the knob, opened the door a crack, and looked in.

What he saw made him snort and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. Timothy McGee was sound asleep, curled up on his side, his blankets pulled up and clutched under his chin to ward off the chill of the hospital. He was also snoring.

Gibbs snorted to himself as he closed the door. At least it looked like one of them would be getting a good night's rest tonight. McGee was okay, he'd just seen that for himself, and he wasn't going to wake the man up just to double-check. He'd see him tomorrow.

The senior team leader was just about to leave when another thought occurred to him. McGee wasn't the only person he'd worked with today who was here in this hospital. Jonathan Cole was here as well and as far as Gibbs knew, nobody had checked on his status. Vance had said he was critical. Nobody knew how critical, and Gibbs knew that the agency Director did not have the time to find out right now. But he was here, he had the time. More importantly, something inside Gibbs told him that it was his responsibility more than it was Vance's. He was the one who had decided to bring Cole in, he was the one who had trusted him with the bomb, and he was the one whose life Cole had saved. Checking up on him, therefore, was Gibbs' responsibility far more than it was Vance's.

The nurse looked up when he returned to her desk. "Back so soon?"

"Need to look up someone else. Jonathan Cole."

"Hmm." The nurse tapped on her keyboard a few times, and then nodded. "Here he is. It looks like he's out of surgery, listed as critical. He's in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit. Third floor. Are you-"

Gibbs was already walking away. He took the nearest elevator up to the third floor and found his way to the Surgical Intensive Care Unit. This unit wasn't so easy to walk into. A door blocked his entrance, and it was guarded by another nurse who stopped him.

"I'm sorry, it's restricted access. Who are you looking for?"

Gibbs held up his badge. "Jonathan Cole."

The nurse, having been informed about that particular patient, squinted at the badge to make sure that Gibbs really was an NCIS Agent before he nodded. "Go right on through. He's in the last room on left."

Gibbs needed no help in identifying which room housed Jonathan Cole. That would have been obvious just from the two NCIS guards standing rigidly at his door. They both recognized him, nodding to him, and then stepped aside as a middle-aged woman in a white coat exited the room. He held up his badge again. The doctor blinked.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Here to check on the status of Jonathan Cole."

The doctor sighed. It had been _such_ a long day, with so many casualties coming in, and she just wanted to go home and sleep. She'd been hoping to avoid talks with anyone else, but it looked like she was going to have to, regardless. Dr. Soong had heard whispers about the Special Agent standing in front of her. He was very special indeed, and he wasn't known for taking 'no' for an answer. And the patient he was inquiring about, from what she understood, was a very unique patient.

"He's in extremely critical condition," she stated bluntly, wondering where to start describing his injuries. She decided to just start at the top, and work her way down. "He has a skull fracture and suffered a significant intracranial bleed in his temporal lobe. Eight broken ribs, his left lung was punctured pretty badly, and both lungs collapsed. From what we can tell, his lungs and his airways are burned from inhaling the super-heated air. He's not breathing on his own right now, so we've got him on a ventilator."

A brain injury _and_ lung damage. Wonderful. "Any internal bleeding?"

"A lot of it. We performed multiple surgeries simultaneously, one to stop the bleeding in his brain and insert a pressure monitor and another to stop the bleeding in his abdomen. He's lost his spleen, his kidney, and a portion of his liver, and needed multiple transfusions during the surgery. He's on dialysis until his liver starts functioning again. Two of his ribs were so badly broken that they needed to be fixed surgically with titanium pins. He has a fractured pelvis, and his left hip is completely shattered. Femur and tibia are broken too; at least the tibia is a clean break."

"Will he walk?"

"If he wakes up, not for awhile. There's a good chance he'll always limp. There's a significant amount of soft tissue damage in his hip and pelvic area. We repaired some of it, it was causing significant bleeding—we'll repair the rest in a few days."

"You're not done?"

"No. Swelling's gotta go down a little first. And we need his vitals to improve before we go back in. They started fluctuating during surgery."

Which meant he'd started to destabilize. Cole's severely wounded body just wasn't strong enough to handle all the changes taking place inside of it. A bad omen indeed. Gibbs sighed. "Anything else?"

The doctor ran a hand over her eyes. "He has multiple shrapnel wounds and deep lacerations—some go down to the bone—mostly around his abdomen and legs. His left leg is in bad shape, but his right leg is pretty banged up, too. At least it's not broken. We removed the shrapnel and cleaned those wounds. He's got a second degree burn on the upper right side of his face, around his eye, and a shrapnel injury to the eye itself. His optic nerve was damaged, so he might see out of it again, he might not. He's got multiple other burns, mostly second degree, on his right arm and leg and across his back, plus severe bruising all over his body. His left shoulder was also dislocated."

Cole was left-handed, too. For a fleeting moment, Gibbs wondered if they should be glad that his dominant arm was temporarily out of commission, then shoved the thought from his mind. Regardless of his history, Cole would be in no condition to even get out of bed and besides, as strange as it was to think, he deserved better than that line of thinking.

"Is he awake?"

The doctor shook her head. "No. We've got him heavily sedated; he's in a coma, and we need to keep him under until he's completely stable."

They probably had no idea how long that was going to be. Internally, Gibbs sighed. Jonathan Cole had done a lot of bad things, that was true, but Gibbs knew he'd seen something in the convict, something that was worth saving. His survival, unfortunately, was not guaranteed and was still very much up in the air. "Is he allowed visitors?"

"NCIS and certain other authorized personnel are allowed in at all times unless he crashes. You can go in. Just don't expect him to respond. And…" Dr. Soong hesitated. "Prepare yourself. He's in critical condition, and he looks like it."

She stepped aside. Gibbs hadn't actually intended on visiting him, but now that he was here, he may as well. He hesitated for a moment, and then turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The room was relatively quiet, but not silent as Gibbs walked inside. It was filled with the intermittent, reassuring beep of the heart monitor and the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator.

That was the first thing Gibbs noticed. The second thing he noticed was that the doctor hadn't been joking. Cole _did_ look bad. Gibbs approached the bed, but he didn't need the proximity to see everything that looked wrong about the former Phantom Eight operative. As the doctor had said, a tube had been shoved down his throat so a machine could breathe for him. His head and the upper right side of his face were covered in bandages, completely obscuring his injured eye, but Gibbs could see the monitor that disappeared directly into his brain, keeping track of pressure. Cole's abdomen, too, had been wrapped in white gauze, although it couldn't hide the fantastic bruising caused by broken ribs; nor did it hide the tubes coming out of both sides of his chest, draining any accumulated fluid and re-inflating his singed lungs. Even his arms were bandaged due to burns and cuts caused by flying shrapnel, although what wasn't wrapped had been stuck with various intravenous lines. His left shoulder had been wrapped in an ace bandage but no sling was present, probably because laying his arm across his chest would further inhibit his ability to breathe.

An external fixator rose from the vicinity of Cole's waist. His right leg had been raised by pillows to help keep his pelvis in a neutral position and to keep the injuries to that limb elevated. His left leg, encased in a full-length cast, had also been elevated and immobilized with traction.

In short, Jonathan Cole looked nothing like the man Gibbs had talked to only 12 hours earlier.

Now that he was here, Gibbs had no idea what to do. He was never one to be at a loss for words, but what exactly did one say to a convicted traitor who had betrayed his country, killed and tried to kill one's fellow agents, and then tried to redeem himself by saving you and attempting to save everyone else from an exploding bomb? Especially when said man was completely unconscious?

Well, it wouldn't hurt to start out with what he'd wanted to say all day.

Stepping closer to the prone figure on the bed was an exercise in caution. Gibbs made his way up to the side of the bed, carefully avoiding the numerous tubes that gave life support to the badly wounded convict. He paused for a moment, wondering if Cole could actually hear him; Gibbs' own ears were still ringing, and he hadn't been nearly as close as Cole had been, nor was he as badly injured.

There was only one way to find out. Gibbs cleared his throat, preparing to say something he didn't often say. Leaning in closer, he made sure to speak softly, but clearly,

"Thank you for giving me the time I needed to save Abby. You did good."

Jonathan Cole didn't even twitch.

**Author's Notes**:

_So here it is, the first chapter. I've been working on this story idea for a long time, and I've got a rough idea of where I want to take it—but be warned, I am NOT known for my timely updates, as I am very easily distracted by other projects and writer's block. No, it will NOT be Gibbs/Cole slash, so you don't have to worry—if you are worrying, get your heads out of the gutter. I'm writing something on a subject that I believe is sorely lacking in content and support: the subject of Jonathan Cole. _

_Even though he was only in 3 episodes in season 9, Cole was integral to everything that happened in that season. Scott Wolf was a great addition to the cast. I really think that the writers could have fleshed out his character much more over the course of the season, even though I loved what they did put in there. "Till Death Do Us Part" was my favorite episode ever. When I watched that episode, I'll be honest and say that Cole actually became favorite character ever, right up there with my love of everything Tiva. I was truly disappointed and sort of hated the season 10 premiere, because he wasn't brought up even ONCE; after all, who cares that he had this AWESOME MOMENT OF REDEMPTION, and that he SAVED GIBBS AND ABBY?! I do think that he maybe got one unspoken nod in that episode: Gibbs killed Dearing by stabbing him, which was Cole's preferred method of killing for Dane and Latham. _

_I was also displeased—although not at all surprised, considering he's such a minor character—that there were very few stories out there with him in them. I always wondered, 'What if he survived, what would that be like?' (BTW, I do think the show did the right thing, letting him be redeemed in death, but I have to indulge myself, right?) So, here is my humble attempt at addressing that curiosity, and the lack of fics w/ him. Gibbs was the one with whom Cole managed to achieve some type of connection and respect, so this is what I think it *could* have happened, had he survived that bomb._

_And, last but not least, to those of you authors out there: PLEASE WRITE MORE JONATHAN COLE! Hopefully this will inspire you ; )_


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